A Litany of Productivity

My mom is unarguably the most productive person I know.  My in-laws come in a close second.  We were brought up to wash our windows and screens twice a year and turn the hoses off so they don't freeze and generally try to maintain what God has given us to the best of our ability.

A typical Sunday night phone call with my mom turns to a litany of her productivity.  She hauled another dead deer to the burn pile, she cleaned my dad's shop, she mulched the last three-quarters of an acre of flowers. . .she did all her Fall transplants.  She is woman hear her roar. . . never mind that she is 30 years older than me.

Most of the time as I swim to the surface and gulp for air I have to remind myself that her kids are grown.  She is retired.  Yes, she still has some supernatural source of energy, but I have to remember that she is in a different place in life.

Ha.  This weekend was a little different. We were home.  No recitals. No workshops. No masterclasses. No deadlines. My husband even turned down a gig for Sunday night. Not counting the time we spent at Betty's Cafe, we truly had the whole weekend minus two church services.  Plus an extra hour for daylight savings!!!

We cut down the trees that needed cutting and made firewood and burned the rest. Calvin and Bill brought up firewood for the winter from under the porch. Calvin and I put up 22 strands of Christmas lights outside and it was above 40 degrees and not sleeting. Bill fixed the broken vacuum. Laundry.  Outdoor clean-up. Calvin and I went through his entire room and closet with a fine toothed comb uncovering stacks from 2007. We even had time for home made pizza. And the coup de grace--I slept-in both days.

I don't know why time is elastic sometimes and other times it snaps.  I'll take it as it comes.  Next weekend is the last free weekend before Christmas.  We are fueling up here.

So dear mother. . . I love you, but eat your heart out. . . all that's left around here is the basement and I'll wait till you come to visit to tackle that.  I'm sure with your help we can fit it in between lunch out and the galleria.

Knock yourself out, it's all gone. . .